


Gentle Giant

by MrRaccoonofRPD



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, smol leon, swole tyrant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-14 21:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18060824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrRaccoonofRPD/pseuds/MrRaccoonofRPD
Summary: The Tyrant deployed at the Raccoon City Police Station has one mission that it is determined not to fail, kill any and all survivors.





	1. Altered View

The zombies that litter the police station are of no importance to the mighty Tyrant. It pays them no mind as it searches the derelict police station for signs of survivors; those who could escape and spread the word of what happened here to outsiders. The Tyrant briefly wonders who or what could have possibly survived until now as it stomps through the third floor shower rooms, briefly glancing at the ruined bricks that make up the large breach between the two rooms. Nevertheless, it continues on, undeterred by its lack of any contact with survivors. It will not fail its first proper mission.

 

Patrolling the library was when it heard the first instance of another presence at the station aside from itself and the zombies. Footsteps, as light as mere feathers compared to its own, scurrying along outside of the library in the direction of the main hall. These steps were different to that of a zombie. Proper steps and not the sound of shuffling it had come to expect from the undead. No, this one is alive. With a newfound determination to succeed in its mission, the Tyrant upped its walking pace in the direction of the door leading to the main hall. It slammed the door open, the splintered wood ricocheting off of the wall as it kneeled to fit through the door frame. This is wasting time, thought the Tyrant. Its eyes quickly darted around the hall, searching for any sign of movement. Instead, it heard the sound of those hurried feather footsteps quickly moving away from its position. The Tyrant gave a soundless huff of annoyance as it resumed its chase. Slower now since the Tyrant figured that the survivor most likely heard the sound of its pounding footsteps for it to be as far away as it is now.

 

“God dammit!”

  
There it is. After what felt like an eternity to the Tyrant it has at last heard the survivor again. It is making a conveniently loud amount of noise to be considered wise for its own survival but the Tyrant wasn’t complaining. It made its job easier. Now mindful of the sound of its own footsteps, the Tyrant walked at a leisurely pace towards the commotion. It wasn’t like it was going to lose the survivor now.

 

Opening the door the Tyrant witnessed what had its target shooting off seemingly every bullet in its arsenal. Present in the hallway was one of the wall crawlers with no skin, crawling along the roof towards its target. The target was unlike anything those who had deployed the Tyrant had described to it. They had described a soldier with heavy artillery and a mask which hid their face. The Tyrant could see every last detail of this survivor’s face when it turned to face him, distracted by the presence of the Tyrant. This proved to be a mistake for the survivor as the wall crawler threw its entire body weight on top of it, causing its knees to buckle as it fell backwards and smashed its head against the floor. The Tyrant’s target ceased all movement, the gun in its hands falling to the ground. The wall crawler raised a clawed hand in the air, reading a strike that would surely slaughter the unmoving survivor beneath it. As its claws glinted in the flickering fluorescent lights of the hallway, the Tyrant moved as fast as it has ever gone in its short life-span, making its way from the doorway to the wall crawler in three quick stomps. It grabbed the wall crawler’s exposed brain and squeezed, the brain matter popping around the Tyrant’s fingers as it grew limp in its grasp. The Tyrant threw the wall crawler against the wall, leaving a satisfying blood stain as it slid down it. The Tyrant turned from the makeshift paint job to the unconscious survivor. This is its target. This is what it was deployed to seek and kill. Killing it meant succeeding in its mission so then, why did the Tyrant stop a wall crawler from doing the job for it? The Tyrant kneeled down next to its target and placed two gloved fingers against its neck, checking for a pulse. A steady heartbeat thrummed beneath its skin, signalling to the Tyrant that it was indeed still alive. Removing its fingers, the Tyrant’s eyes flickered to its target’s facial area. No helmet, no gas mask, nothing obscured its target’s face. The Tyrant then realised that this is the first instance where it has seen a proper human face that wasn’t marred by decay like those of the zombies or covered like those of the scientists.

 

The Tyrant had been staring at its target’s face for too long. The telltale sound of shuffling and groaning signalled the oncoming hoard of zombies, climbing in through the shattered window and making their way towards the fresh body that lay before the Tyrant. The Tyrant made its decision. It grabbed its target’s weapon and proceeded to slide its hefty hands beneath the body of its target, supporting it by the back of its knees and its back which left its head lolling. After a bit of shuffling, the head of its target lay comfortably against the Tyrant’s shoulder. Satisfied at its target’s position, the Tyrant stomped away from the tumbling hoard of undead towards the main hall, figuring that that is the safest place in the station due to its lack of zombies. While walking to its destination, the Tyrant periodically glanced at its target which has yet to react to anything around it. What was the Tyrant supposed to do now? It had gone against its mission, its programming, everything that it had set out to do all for the life of what was supposed to be its target. It would be destroyed for its actions by those who had created it. This thought stirred an unknown emotion within the Tyrant as it reached an area in the main hall where it could place its former target to assess its condition. The Tyrant pushed a rotting body off of the seat and laid its former target down. Visually, it looked fine aside from a few discolorations in its face that were most likely the result of past impacts. The Tyrant pressed its fingertips against the side of its former target’s face, the flesh underneath warm and yielding against the cool leather that makes up the Tyrant’s gloves. It’s so small, thought the Tyrant. Smaller than itself, anyway. The Tyrant’s hand left its face as it caught sight of another patch of skin, its hands. The Tyrant held one of its hands in its own and it felt its own bewilderment. This thing is so fragile, it thought. When it was deployed it was told about the dangerous humans that it may find here, armed up to the teeth in weapons that could kill any creature less than a Tyrant. But this thing, laying here with its hand in the Tyrant’s own, this thing is in danger.

 

It started to awake when the Tyrant started to pat at the strands of soft string-like stuff on its head. It groaned and shuffled on the seat, nearly rolling onto the floor which caused the Tyrant to have to lightly push it back away from the edge. At the light shove, it opened its eyes and the Tyrant was immediately met with its gaze, which was currently one of momentary shock before the fear set in. The Tyrant’s former target shot out of the seat and collapsed almost instantly, its newfound consciousness still too dazed to properly use its legs. It looked up at the Tyrant from on the floor, still attempting to push itself away from what it assumed to be danger.

  
“Jesus Christ! Stay back!”

  
The Tyrant was momentarily stunned. It slowly reached into its trench coat, mindful of any sudden movements that may further frighten its former target, and pulled out what it had the foresight to acquire before.

  
“Is that...is that my gun?” The human asked, eyes straying from the hulking mass to the dwarfed gun in its palm. The Tyrant didn’t respond, it merely stared blankly at the human. The human sat up straighter but didn’t yet stand up. The Tyrant walked forward, making a conscious effort to soften its footfalls as it approached the human. The human visibly tensed as its eyes snapped back to the Tyrant, not knowing what to expect. The Tyrant grunted audibly as it proceeded to drop the gun into the human’s lap which the human then quickly snatched, re-arming itself but not pointing it at the Tyrant.

  
“Erm, thank you.” The human said as the Tyrant sat down in front of it, crossing its legs in a similar fashion to the human. Neither moved or made any sound for a long time in fear of what the other might do.

 

The first to make a move was the Tyrant. It reached its massive hand towards the human which caused the human to gasp in surprise and lean back, unsure of what the monster was doing. Faltering only slightly, the Tyrant continued, reaching over to once again pat the human’s string-like features on the top of its head.  
“Um, that’s my hair you’re touching.” The human, in spite of itself it seemed, smiled at the behavior of the perceived monster, finally letting its guard down when the Tyrant proved to not mean any harm. The Tyrant, seeing the expression on the smaller one’s face, copied it. A large toothy grin showing itself on its face.


	2. Carry On

“So now what?”

  
The human posed a good question. What was next for the Tyrant and its newly acquired companion? It couldn’t allow for the human to go off on its own. The Tyrant chose not to examine why it felt this way in favour of abruptly standing up, the human gasping lightly due to being caught off guard. The Tyrant took half a step towards the human, placing its hands underneath its arms and hoisting it off the ground effortlessly into the air.

  
“Wha-! Hey! What’re you doing!?” The human squirmed, wriggling in the Tyrant’s grip as the bulky mass lifted the human above its own head and positioned it on its extremely broad shoulders. The human’s hands scrambling to grab a hold of something so as not to slip off as the Tyrant’s hands left its body. The human settled for wrapping its arms around the Tyrant’s neck, somewhat forcefully as the Tyrant grunted in mild annoyance at the smaller one, tapping one of the human’s arms with a large finger.

  
“Oh, sorry. You _did_ catch me off guard.” The human was quick to loosen its hold, now having its arms merely resting around the Tyrant’s neck. The Tyrant didn’t respond as it set out to leave the police station. This human isn’t safe here that much is clear. Every crevice of Raccoon City is teeming with infected. Rotting limbs clawing, mouths gnashing for a taste of any fresh meat that has the misfortune of crossing paths with them. This human doesn’t stand a sliver of a chance, if its encounter with the wall crawler was anything to go by. No, the small one needs to get out of Raccoon City.

  
“Um, what’s the deal with the hat? Going somewhere fancy?” The human joked, unlatching one of its arms to pick up the hat and place it on its own head. The Tyrant stopped, hand retracting from the doorhandle leading outside. It steadily reached up and blindly felt for its hat, cautious of accidentally knocking the human off of its shoulders. It located the hat and proceeded to set it upon its own head again, lightly swatting at the human’s leg in a way which could be interpreted as, ‘don’t do that again’.

  
“Okay, sorry. I promise I won’t touch your hat again. It’s a nice looking hat though.” The human remarked. The Tyrant grunted in response as it resumed its task of leaving the police station, opening the front door and ducking lower than what it normally would due to the extra height that the human gave it.

  
“Where’re we going?” The human inquired as the Tyrant strode over to the gate, the arms of those marred by infection grabbing at the air between themselves and the Tyrant.  
“I don’t need to tell you that’s a bad idea right? Going out there?” The anxiety climbed in the human’s voice, its arms subconsciously tightening around the Tyrant’s neck though not enough to hurt. If its anxiety rose any higher, the human could do something that could endanger itself. The Tyrant decided to repeatedly stroke the human’s arm with two of its oversized fingers, feeling the tense muscle underneath the human’s clothing. The Tyrant attempted to give a grunt of reassurance.

  
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do. Thanks.” The human’s voice still sounded rough with tension but its arms steadily released the near choke-hold they had on the Tyrant’s neck. The Tyrant then rested both hands on the gate, preparing to push them open.

  
“When we’re out there, find somewhere safe quickly, okay? You’ll probably be fine against them but my legs are up for grabs.” The human swung both of its legs, proving its point. The Tyrant nodded.

  
“Alright. I’m ready. Go!” At its words, the Tyrant pushed the gate open with all of its strength, shoving aside any zombie that had the misfortune of standing near it. The Tyrant set off at a brisk pace, wanting to run but refraining from doing so in fear of jolting the human off of its shoulders. Any zombie that stood in the Tyrant’s way was made short work of, receiving a single forceful punch to the face that sent them careening away.

  
“Haha! Yeah!” The human cheered, patting the Tyrant on the shoulder. “You’re like an unstoppable tank!” The Tyrant smiled slightly at the human’s compliment, taking a mental note of the first time it ever heard praise directed at itself. All the scientists ever said were that it wasn’t good enough, that it could be better in its destructive capabilities. The Tyrant wasn’t going to lie to itself, hearing its actions commended instead of reprimanded felt good.

 

The Tyrant took its companion down a street that few zombies resided in. Which way was it to go now? It’s not like the Tyrant knew the layout of the city. Maybe the smaller one knew. But how to convey this question to the human when the Tyrant couldn’t speak? Perhaps it could write it down? The Tyrant knew words well enough; the scientists taught it basic English just after it was created to test how far its comprehension could go. The human’s arms have gotten steadily slacker as time wore on, indicating that the adrenaline of before must be wearing off. The human is tired. The Tyrant’s eyes searched for somewhere, maybe an alleyway or abandoned building to deposit the human while it searched for writing material. A suitable enough building was located a few steps away. No damage to its walls or door makes it ideal against any potential zombie wanderers. The Tyrant had to punch the door to open it since it appeared to be locked, the sudden noise of it alerting the human.

  
“Hm? What’s happening?” It slurred. There was no longer a doubt in the Tyrant’s mind that the human is exhausted. Walking over to some collapsed shelves; the Tyrant reached behind its head, grabbed the human and placed it gently on the shelves in a lying-down position.

  
“Hey. I’m not staying here.” The human moved to get up but stopped when the Tyrant placed its palm against it, the weight of it pushing the human back down. “Are you trying to get me to sleep here? I can’t sleep on a shelf, its cold.” The Tyrant wouldn’t know. It didn’t process temperature the same way as the human does. But if temperature is the problem, the Tyrant only has one solution. It started to steadily undo the buttons of its trench coat.

  
“What are you doing? Don’t take off your clothes please. I don’t wanna see that!” The human quickly sat up. The Tyrant narrowed its eyes at the human, expression unchanging as it continued to remove its oversized trench coat. Once completely off of its body, the Tyrant looked at the trench coat, to the human, and back again.

  
“You’ve got a shirt on underneath, thank God.” The human looked visibly relieved. The Tyrant doesn’t know what’s going through its head. Ignoring the human’s reaction, the Tyrant took its trench coat and dropped it on top of the human, effectively burying it in the coat.

  
“What’d you do that for?” The human threw the coat off, looking a bit annoyed, a feeling that the Tyrant is beginning to experience. Trying to get its point across, the Tyrant picked up the coat again and, this time, wrapped it around the human’s shoulders. The coat completely hid the human from view, bar its head.

  
“Oh. It’s a blanket.” The human shuffled in place, trying to sit more comfortably. “Thank you.” The human smiled. The Tyrant placed a hand on top of the human’s head, effectively petting it before standing up to its full height and making its leave.

  
“Hey! Where’re you going? Will you be back?” The Tyrant stopped, turned and nodded before leaving the human, hoping that it’ll be okay.


	3. Communication Begins

The Tyrant needed to be quick in its search of the writing materials. The human is now alone and borderline defenseless with nothing to protect it aside from its handgun, which already must have limited ammo when considering all the bullets wasted on the wall crawler earlier. With this in mind, the Tyrant began its search. It looked through several abandoned buildings, their windows shattered and doors kicked from their hinges, and found countless sheets of paper strewn across the floor in almost each of the buildings but no sign of anything that could be used as a means to write out words. Nothing that remained intact anyway. The Tyrant did indeed come across what must have been pens at some point but now are only mere puddles of ink on the floor, crushed by something that must’ve stampeded through here earlier.

 

The Tyrant had a thought. It did not need pens or pencils to write, no. It has the appendages right on its own hands. It could use its fingers! It grabbed one of the loose-leaf papers from the floor, laid it down next to the puddle of ink and smoothed it out, attempting to rid it of the crinkles that spread across its surface like a spider web. With a small upturn of its lips, the Tyrant dipped one large finger into the ink and proceeded to drag it across the surface of the paper, spelling out the question it needed to ask to help ensure the human of its continued survival.

_‘Which way out of the city?’_

 

The Tyrant took its paper back to the building that housed the human. Being mindful of the fact that the human could have fallen asleep in its absence, it opened the door gently, causing no noise aside from the hinges minor squeaking. It peeked its head through while ducking down to make it through the doorframe and its eyes landed on the human: it is resting atop the fallen shelves where the Tyrant had left it. The larger one made its way towards it, footsteps decidedly lighter to avoid waking the human. The Tyrant crouched down to view the human’s slumbering face. Where would the Tyrant go after it has successfully brought the human to safety? The Tyrant briefly thought about going to find the scientist’s that were responsible for deploying it here in the first place but it quickly discarded that thought. The Tyrant didn’t want to go back to them. It wants to stay with the human. But would the human want that? Something like itself to be trailing after the human until one of them dies? The Tyrant felt disheartened at this. It brought up one of its gloved hands to its own face and felt it, not thinking to do so earlier. Deep ridges marred its face, most likely giving it the appearance of something unnatural. The Tyrant’s hand left it own face to draw closer to the human’s. It used two fingers to caress the human’s cheek, feeling how the skin felt perfect and warm; nothing like its own. Its fingers left the human, dropping down onto the floor with a weighty thud.

“What’s with the long face?” A sleepy voice asked.

The Tyrant’s eyes met the human’s, which blinked slowly with its newfound awake state. The Tyrant grunted, attempting to school its face into a more neutral expression.

“Didn’t know you could feel sad. What’s wrong?” The human inquired through a yawn, making its words sound almost incomprehensible. The Tyrant waved its hand in the air, dismissing the question. It didn’t need to bother the human with its thoughts now; there were more pressing matters to get to.

 

The Tyrant reached into its pants pocket and pulled out the paper with its question to the human on it. It laid the paper down in front of the human, who was now dusting off the trench coat, most likely to give back to the Tyrant.

“Hm? Is this what you left to find?” The Tyrant nodded, prodding the paper multiple times with its index finger, prompting the human to read it. The human’s eyes took in the words on the paper.

“Do I know a way out of the city? Well, I am new to this city so I don’t know too much about too many exits but I do remember the road that I drove here on. That was a straight through road that leads directly in and out of the city. It actually shouldn’t be too far from here, if the plumes of smoke are any indication.” The human’s eyes then became distant. The Tyrant narrowed its own eyes, not having seen this expression on the human’s face before.

“There was someone with me, you know. A woman named Claire. We both promised each other that we would get through this; make it out of this nightmare. I know I can now, with you here.” The human glanced up at the Tyrant.

“But what about Claire? What if she’s...she’s...” The human’s breaths have become shaky and its words faltered. It turns away from the Tyrant, running a hand across its face.

“I don’t know if I can deal with the fact that she...” A sniffle. “It would be my fault. I drove her here, into danger...” The human stopped speaking, too overcome by what it is feeling. The Tyrant doesn’t know what to do. It moved around the human so it could properly see its face and, while the Tyrant’s own face attempted to remain as passive as ever, it was still shocked by what it sees.

 

The human’s face is a mess: eyes bloodshot, skin blotchy and a strange liquid streaming down from its eyes. The Tyrant cocked its head. What is this? It knows that humans experience a wide range of emotions but this is alarmingly extreme for the Tyrant to see. What should it do to calm down the smaller one? The Tyrant reached forward to drag the human toward itself. It let itself be pulled along without much struggling. The larger of the two gently brought the smaller one to its chest, arms caringly wrapping around its form, engulfing it in the Tyrant’s mass. The human did nothing but breathe for a while before slowly lifting its own arms to return what the Tyrant now realized to be its first hug. This feels...nice, the Tyrant thought.

“Sorry.” The human’s voice is muffled due to having its face pressed against the Tyrant.

“I know we need to get out of here, I just...let me get my bearings.” The human is now making a conscious effort to breathe slower, leaning most of its weight against the Tyrant in an effort to calm down.

“Thank you.” The human looked up into the Tyrant’s face and gave a watery smile as a large hand rubbed its back. It took a few more minutes for the human to pull away from the Tyrant, now looking decently presentable for the mission ahead.

“Alright, wanna get out of this Hellhole?” The human made its way to the door, faltering when reaching for the handle.

“Ah right. This belongs to you.” It threw the trench coat at the Tyrant, the Tyrant catching it easily and slipping it on. The human is a brave one, the Tyrant thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, angst happened

**Author's Note:**

> What is this useless fluff that has appeared in my brain and subsequently typed out?
> 
> This was inspired by a single thought: What would happen if the Tyrant came across an unconscious Leon? And then boom, this happened!


End file.
